


Wolf and Dragon

by Buggirl



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 06:08:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3599241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buggirl/pseuds/Buggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smutty prose in 3 acts.  Created for Samson Smut Saturday on Tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steel beneath sinews, hard muscle with skin taut and pale. That’s what he looks like. A monster’s growl he emits as he comes towards her.

Soft and small, almost meek. It’s a ruse, inside she has dragon fire. It shows in the way she walks, the way she moves her hands and the way others bend and move to get out of her way as she passes. He’s not going to move.

He looms large, at least a foot taller than her maybe more, but he’s hardly intimidating. That smirk he’s wearing doesn’t help as she knows she wears a similar one.

The anger inside her seeps through every pore on her face now shiny with sweat. The memory of his own resentment and fury a sudden dagger that stops him in his tracks. He falters.

Why has he stopped? She’s been enjoying this, feeling like a caged animal has her wet with desire. Finally someone who thinks less of her than the others do. Or does he?

He drops the smirk and replaces it with an honest smile before replacing his shirt and turning to leave. 

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” She asks angrily.

“I have an appointment with Dagna.” He replies without looking back.

She jumps on his back and whispers, things she wants him to do to her. His open mouth clinging desperately to hers. His hands in her smalls and then inside her one finger then two. The hard part of him in other places he’s not yet been. She whispers where she’ll put her mouth on his body, how much she’ll swallow and cry tears when at its hilt. She bites him hard on the ear.

“Maker’s Balls. What the…?” He shakes her off and puts his hand to his ear. A small trace of blood is on his finger as he brings it into view. He looks at her eyes wide. “Is that what you really want? To play hard and rough?” 

She says nothing and runs a tongue seductively over full pink lips. That’s exactly what she wants from him. No deference, no ‘Herald’ or ‘Your Worship’ no lick spittle sucking up like an obsequious Orlesian noble. 

He laughs then and removes his shirt watching her turn her head approvingly to the side. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this. It’s breaking me. All this.” He can see her eyes are bright her mouth damp and parted. He moves towards her again, and she backs away. His brow furrows in confusion.

Her smile reveals how ecstatic she is that he’s complied without her saying another word. She needs this, Inquisition be damned. Her clan is all dead, most in Skyhold dislike her with the exception of the good Lady Montilyet, Solas and Cullen. She knows at some point she’ll go to one of them for ‘legitimate’ comfort in the eyes of Thedosian politics. Either one or all will offer her affection and good graces she doesn’t think she deserves. The way they look at her, she knows she’ll eat them up and spit them out like she does everyone else who fawns over her. But right now, her sights are on the doomed former Templar before her. She’s teasing him and it’s all shades of cruel, she knows.

Steel beneath sinews, hard muscle with skin taut and pale. That’s what he looks like. That’s what she wants, that’s what she needs right now.  
 


	2. Chapter 2

Small and voluptuous, buxom with pretty face and full lips, pink and yielding. That’s what she looks like. A plate of delicacies he wants to devour greedily. She calls to him to come get her, if he dare.

Tall and thin, almost a ghost. It’s a ruse, inside he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. It shows in the growl of his voice, the snarl in his temperament and in the eyes of innocents who look away from him in fear. She backs away from him slowly.

She’s so small he can hardly believe she’s more than a kitten. Hardly intimidating. She’s wearing a knowing smirk again so he puts his back in place.

The failure and loss of hope he wears like a cowl. The memory of her own failures and losses an unexpected punch to her gut. She can do nothing but look away.

Why does she look away? He’s been enjoying this, a small measure of power over her has him hard as stone. Finally someone who doesn’t feel fear of him, or loathes his current state. Or does she?

Her smirk falters and her head bowed down and away from his gaze. She attempts to push past him wanting to escape.

“Where the hell are you going?” He asks indignantly.

“I really should go… I have things to do. Irabelas.” She mutters and tries to push past him again.

He grabs her arms and pulls her too him before whispering that she can’t do this to him. He’s not a mouse to her cat. She can’t leave him like this. He tells her what he wants her to do. Her mouth all over him, in places so tantalising she’ll want to please him. His hardness inside her inviting tightness. He tells her he’ll be slow and sensitive, then wild and brutal. How much he aches to be inside her. He grips her backside and lifts her up so that their parts are pressed together through clothing.

“Fenedhis lasa.” She curses and reaches for the steel rod bracing that goes from wall to wall above her head. She pulls herself away from him and dangles from the metal strut, legs swinging tightly underneath. She looks at his eyes furrowed in annoyance. “Is that what you really want? To take me unwillingly?” But in her heart she doesn’t mean it. She wants him and a small grin returns to her face.

Before he notices the smile returning he says nothing and sighs and turns to leave again. She reaches out fast enough to kick him in the shoulder, her boots having been removed before she arrived. He turns angrily and grabs her foot as she attempts to kick him again, but softens when he sees she’s wearing a grin on her face. 

Her returns her grin then comes close enough to part her knees. He’s compliant because he knows he’ll be rewarded. He can already smell her arousal and he finds himself stiffening again. He’s confused and dazed at her she’s worse than the lyrium he craves. At least with the dwarf dust he can get some level of relief. Here as an exile, an outsider, a villain and traitor, he’s tormented by her. The smell of her, oh Maker help him. The taste of her skin and other places the sounds she makes when she comes, sometimes quiet and whimpering at other times she’s loud and moaning like she’s on fire and about to die. His hand could offer more relief than she gives him at times and even that he doesn’t think he deserves. He can see she has his sights on him and intends to extend his suffering, it’s all shades of cruel, he knows, but he doesn’t care. 

Small and voluptuous, buxom with pretty face and full lips, pink and yielding. That’s what she looks like. That’s what he wants, that’s what he needs right now.


	3. Chapter 3

Wolf and dragon. An odd pairing for sure.

One a beast of uneasy temperament, wary and voracious in appetite. He’ll tear you apart as soon as he looks at you, unforgiving, desperate and craving flesh.

The other serene until roused then all fire and searing heat. She’ll burn you as soon as she looks at you, chewing what’s left of charred remains.

He has no difficulty removing her leggings from this position. The leverage helped by gravity. Only her top and panties remain. He can’t get to them easily as she hold her legs tighter together and swings them back and forth, as she supports herself on the horizontal strut above.

It hurts her armpits with how hard he’s tugging at her but she remains resolute to continue in this tightly held position. She does not intend to make it easy for him.

He’s had enough teasing. He aches, and not in a good way. If she means to turn him blue, it’s working. Instead of trying to tease her underpants off, he claws at them ripping them away in tatters. He stands back, trophy in hand and waves them in front of her before throwing his head back and laying them across his face.

She can’t help herself and laughs.

“You find this funny?” He drops her underpants into his hand before adding, “Your, Worship.” The last word drawn out with a smirk.

Her grin drops to that of a frown, from fire to ice in a mere fraction of a second. “Don’t call me that. Just don’t.”

He struts towards her and places his hands on her knees, which are still curled up under her. His eyes fall to her crotch. “Let me in there and I’ll call you anything you want.” His gaze focussed and his pupils large.

Her eyes soften but her legs remain plastered together.

He grips her knees tighter and slowly prises them apart. He forces her legs over his shoulders. He takes a deep breath of her scent, musky and ready before he buries his face in her soft folds nose first. His thoughts are all bad, of how he’ll lick her till she’s tender and ready, what he’ll make her cry when she comes.

She grunts and elicits an Elven curse. Yet she closes her eyes and bites on her hands when she feels his nose circling her clit. His hands are rough on her cheeks. She yelps when one had unexpectedly slaps her. “You bastard.” She says and squirms fiercely underneath him.

His tongue is too busy for him to reply. He knows despite protestation how much she wants him, her desire is coated all over his nose, his cheeks, his lips and tongue. He licks at her franticly like a cat with spilt milk, desperate to get all of it before it seeps away.

Her eyes are still closed and her breaths become shallow with each ministration. His tongue is buried in her deep and the thing that he’s doing… with his nose, small loops of her clit that make her shudder seem impossible. Her legs hard and stiff prior soften to embrace him. She’s shaking and wary that her grip on the bar is failing.

He senses that’s she’s ready so he takes his face from her and fumbles for his cock then lets her fall into his arms. He’s as ready for her as he is for him and he slips into her with ease. He keeps her buttocks firmly in his hands, but she wraps her legs so tight around him he knows she won’t drop any further.

She’s trembling as she falls on to him. She sees his face is needy and covered in her juices, so too the longing in his eyes. His gaze is intense and unblinking as he pushes into her. She feels the veins in his neck pop with each thrust. She’s on the verge of orgasm and licks his face, suckles his nose, this taste of her, she’s familiar with its brackish flavour. She locks lips with him, soft on soft, tongues tasting one another. She comes with a series of pulses that race up through her spine.

He’s not sure he can support her for too much longer now she’s come. Her orgasm has made her fall into a dead weight so he staggers back to the cot behind him. Her arms remain tightly around his neck as he tumbles to a seated position. He falls out of her for a moment, before thrusting hard back in. She moans loudly at the sudden plunge.

She buries her face in his neck and relaxes into his impatient thrusting. Her breaths remain ragged and the occasional thrust has her whispering his name into his ear.

When he feels that familiar tightening, he slows his pace. Maker, he wants the feeling never to end, her breath on his neck, her encouraging wetness and tightness, the whispers of his name. When it does and he lets himself give in, it’s both euphoric and agonising. As they still, he hums against the soft crook of her neck.

They cling to each other this way for a long time. Dragon fires cooled, wolfish appetites tamed.


End file.
